


Wish You Were

by LittleSammy



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-22
Updated: 2012-04-22
Packaged: 2017-11-04 02:25:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSammy/pseuds/LittleSammy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ziva spends her holiday with her friend from Miami, but her thoughts, they wander, and they drift back to the one she left behind. Heed the fluff warning. And this is as close as I'll ever come to a holiday fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wish You Were

**Author's Note:**

> Set after 8x10 "False Witness", and yes, mild spoilers for that episode. Also, a big, fat fluff warning applies - well, as fluffy as two dysfunctional people can get. Clearly, my muses know no balance, either, going from fluff to smut and back again without any restraints in both directions. ;)

The biggest change in her life doesn't even occur to Ziva until later that day, when she's sitting on the terrace of her hotel, surrounded by chattering tourists. 

She has a thick blanket draped across her legs while she waits for her friend to return with hot drinks to warm them up after half a day spent on the slopes, and her cheeks glow and her fingertips sting from the bite of the cold. She has no idea where R gets his unnatural drive and energy from. Her own body is sore and her muscles strained, but for some reason Ziva doesn't really mind. It's been such a marvelous day, and she has rarely felt more alive than she does right now.

She snuggles deeper into her blanket with a contented sigh. And just then, while she turns her face into the sun and lets it warm her face, she realizes that she is actually happy. She blinks and watches the sun set, and her heart stumbles minutely over the new concept and then takes a few moments to settle down again to its regular pace. 

She certainly had no idea that she's never been truly happy and at peace before in her life, and the thought is a somewhat disconcerting one. But it's not entirely on the bad side of things. 

So that's what it feels like.

She wants to react to this rather fundamental moment but her mind is too surprised by it and her thoughts want to pull a Tony on her and go into a dozen different directions at once. After a while she gives up and leans back in her seat, waiting for R to return instead and wondering if she'll talk to him about this. 

She probably will, simply because he's the only person in her life who doesn't judge her one way or the other and because they have already talked about more things than Ziva has ever lost words about in her entire life. And because he likes her and it would make him happy to hear that she is, too.

It still feels weird to trust someone in the way she trusts him, even though she knows she has no active choice in this. But Ziva isn't used yet to having friends outside the small circle she works with, and up until now these have been more than enough for her to handle. Her social skills have never been the best, after all, and they were always easily strained by circumstances. But R -- and yes, it still amuses her how they slipped into the habit of calling each other by the first letter of their names so easily, lending their friendship a secretive air that is in stark contrast to the openness of the relationship itself -- R has lately filled a void she hadn't even known existed inside her. 

She's certainly not used to being with someone just for the sake of spending time and having fun. Not for social responsibilities, not because the other party wants to get into her pants, and not just because she has crucial information or a mission to act out. R simply likes her, and Z likes him, and that's about it. There are no strings attached and no further expectations between them. Nothing except friendship. 

For some reason she feels vaguely unsettled by that concept now, much like she feels about being at peace. It's just so strange to her, like it's not supposed to really be for someone like her.

And maybe that's true. But maybe it's just all those years of bending over backwards to fulfill other people's expectations catching up with her now. Years she has spent with trying to figure out how to be a good daughter, a reliable weapon, how to fit in, how not to ask questions, how to be more than a friend and less at the same time.

She blinks and suddenly realizes another thing: there is one exception to these. 

Tony may have wanted -- and gotten -- a lot of things from her over the years, but he certainly never expected them.

She feels even more unsettled all of a sudden, and there's a tiny ache in her chest that she can't really place. All she knows is that now it doesn't feel like a perfect day anymore. Because it's not Tony getting the hot drinks for them. 

Ziva takes a few slow breaths to get a grip, and while she does, her hand digs around in her coat pocket until her fingers close around her cell phone. Her thumb brushes the smooth side of it, and she's hesitant, not sure what she's supposed to do now or if she even wants to do anything about it.

But then she feels a bit of that same ache again, and she thinks that a simple text message never hurt anyone. And if he wants to make fun of her for being sentimental, she can always claim to be drunk and confused by all the strangers around her, soaking her with unwanted Christmas spirit even while they're all trying to flee that very thing. She snaps her phone open and types and sends before she can change her mind.

_'Merry Christmas,'_ she texts him, and that's all, even though she is tempted to add something more personal. But she can't think of anything that wouldn't sound clichéd or -- worse -- downright needy, and she's not ready yet to get mocked by Tony. So it's just that, two words, her heart. It's the spirit that counts, after all.

She's not prepared for the answer that comes mere seconds later, and she jumps when her phone suddenly vibrates hard while she is still staring at the screen, lost in thought.

_'You, too. Break a leg yet?'_

Fewer words than he usually has for her, but for some reason they make her smile, and she thinks it's sad that she can never tell him that because he'd probably make a bad joke out of it. But this time her reply comes with more ease because teasing him and being teased by him is more familiar territory and less abstract. Less... _feeling._

_'You wish. Sunbathing and waiting for a fancy drink before dinner.'_

This time there is no answer, at least not as immediate as the first one, and after a few more moments she realizes that she has to be the one to keep talking if she doesn't want this to be all there is to it. So she does.

_'Are you doing anything special?'_

_'Not really, same old Christmas stuff. Lord of the Rings marathon and getting loaded.'_

She stares at the text and frowns, and she wants to say something about his way of dealing with things that aren't entirely on the sunny side, but the only reply that comes to mind is his name in a scolding tone of voice. But before she can come up with a way to translate this into a text message her phone vibrates again.

_'Relax, not drinking myself into a stupor. Just wallowing a little. That's allowed, right?'_

She keeps frowning at her phone, and yes, she desperately wants to comment on that one, too, but neither _'ok'_ nor _'good'_ seem to cut it, and these are the only replies that come to mind. That and a headslap.

_'If you're good I'll bring you a present,'_ she compromises eventually, and she really hopes that he catches her drift and gives the bottle a rest. _'Want anything in particular?'_

_'Nah, I haven't been that good. Just bring yourself back, safe and sound.'_

Her eyes widen while she reads the simple message, and suddenly she finds that she is blinking rapidly for a whole different set of reasons. It doesn't seem appropriate to feel like that, not about Tony, and certainly not after these few, innocent words. But she does anyway, and she tries to fight the fuzzy feeling in her tummy, and even though she manages mostly she still can't help the hint of a thought that tries to snag her attention. A thought that says being back in DC doesn't sound all that bad, because then she'd be with--

Her thumb hovers over the reply key while her slow breaths make puffy clouds in the cold air. She's still not sure what to say, not when it's Tony she's talking to and when actual talking is just too unfamiliar a thing between them. She hesitates long enough that her phone buzzes yet again.

_'Maybe you could wear a bikini,'_ he tacks on as an afterthought, and just like her he's suddenly adding and subtracting and stepping around stuff that slipped through his guard. Still, Ziva finds herself smiling at her phone in a slightly silly way, and she's suddenly glad he can't see her because she's pretty sure her expression looks way too soft and indulging for her own good.

_'In your dreams,'_ she texts back, shaking her head while she keeps smiling fondly.

_'Nope. In my dreams you wear less.'_

This time she actually laughs out loud, and she's still chuckling while she flips her phone shut and stuffs it back into her pocket. Her hand stays on it, though, and her thumb traces careful, methodical lines along the edges because she can't bring herself to let go just yet. When it buzzes again, she doesn't jump because this time she's not all that surprised.

_'Listen. I know you're probably busy with your not-boyfriend.'_

That's all there is, and she's not sure this time if he just sent the message too soon or if it's supposed to be a question or if it's just all he can bring up the courage for. She frowns at her phone and tries to make sense of this. And eventually she does, and she suddenly knows that if she doesn't answer now, he'll never talk about any of this when she's back home and that he'll expect her to pretend it never happened, too. And yes, apparently Tony does have certain expectations about her after all. They just don't quite match the ones she would like him to have.

Her thumb rubs the reply key slowly, and she feels heat rush her, the heat of anxiety and sudden, unexpected nervousness and other things she isn't supposed to feel. Especially not when it's her partner on the other end of the conversation. But the things she is supposed to feel have never made her happy so far, and maybe it's time to make some new rules and think about things that do. Make her happy, that is.

_'Just dinner. I can call you later.'_

It takes an effort to press _send_ this time, and her heart beats loudly while she waits for his reply. Her phone stays eerily quiet, and the longer the silence stretches itself, the more nervous she gets. Wondering if he is actually ready for having his expectations adjusted. Wondering if she is, because the sudden flutter in her stomach tells her she isn't all that sure about it anymore.

This time she does jump when the buzzing alerts her of the new message.

_'Sure. And I'll be only a little drunk, promise.'_

Once again she wonders what he expects her to say to that, and once again she can't come up with anything this side of sappy, so she is actually relieved when R chooses this moment to return to their table, juggling two giant mugs of hot punch that most likely have a good dose of rum to them. Her phone feels strangely heavy in her pocket, but it stays quiet for now and she's glad about that. 

A small part of Ziva wants to freak out about what she just initiated, and her mind is buzzing and wants to rush through possible scenarios... scenarios that may even include a few expectations of her own. 

The bigger part of her, though, is too distracted to get scared, and she's mostly baffled now because it felt like the right thing to do and the right thing to look forward to and because the sensation of being happy is still fresh and intoxicating and maybe even applicable to the Tony situation, too. 

It's not a bad feeling at all, even though she knows that it will take some getting used to. 

It will also need a lot of work to stick with her. But if she doesn't screw it up this time, maybe she can hold on to it.


	2. Wish We Could

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More mush because 'tis the season.

Later that evening, Ziva finds herself ordering a second round of dessert, mostly just to chat with R a little while longer. 

Also later that evening, she starts packing her suitcase for the trip home with a neatness she seldom shows when it doesn't concern her weapons, organizing the contents of her luggage in a way that would have made Gibbs proud. And even later that same night, she spends a good amount of time on changing into her pajamas and performing her nightly rituals. 

It isn't until she starts brushing her hair for the third time that she realizes she is actually stalling.

Her pulse trips over itself, and she has to remind herself that yes, she did promise to call Tony, there's no way around it now. And so far, she has done a pretty good job of avoiding that call.

She puts down the brush and stares at her face in the mirror, suddenly pale and nervous, and she wonders what's wrong with her. It's just a phone call, after all. And it's just Tony. The man she has known for more than five years. Her partner.

Except that he has stopped being just that, because she's suddenly looking at him all different than she did for the past five years. And it's no longer just about a simple phone call, because for some reason they have switched dynamics over the past few days, especially after those few text messages that said all and nothing at the same time, and she's not sure if Tony knows it, but she does for sure, and it leaves her as nervous as if she were about to go on an actual date. 

Because that simple phone call matters. Because it may set the ground work for what is about to come and how they will treat each other once she gets back to DC. Because maybe it will be the first step of many for them. 

And she's scared out of her wits when she thinks about how important this could actually turn out to be. How easy it will be to screw it all up, again, just like they have done a dozen times before.

Ziva blinks and lowers her eyes. For a minute she watches her hand tighten around the handle of her brush until her knuckles turn white. It takes an effort to force herself to let go and set the brush aside, but eventually the worst of the tension leaves her.

It's not a date. It's just Tony. And not only did she promise to call him, she wants to. 

At least she thinks she does.

*** *** ***

"Hello, " she starts quietly, but before she can say more there's a muffled grunt on the other end and then a clattering sound that makes her hold the phone away from her ear. There's more noise, but after a few moments the sounds stop and his too familiar voice mumbles a sleepy greeting. 

"Are you alright?" she asks, and her eyebrow rises involuntarily.

"Yeah, yeah," he mutters, his voice slurred and not quite there yet. "Sorry. Fell asleep on the couch. Dropped the phone."

"Oh." She blinks and tries not to assume that he kept on drinking and now wants to cover for it. She doesn't really think he did, but she's never sure about people around Christmas, and lately, she's even less sure about Tony. "I didn't realize it's that late. I apologize."

"No, no, it's not." More rustling, slightly less frantic this time, and from the sounds she knows he is sitting up now and rubbing his face while he tries to get his act together. "Just fell asleep while I was waiting for your call. _Two Towers_ is to blame, I swear."

She can't help but smile at his sudden sleepy eagerness, and it's slightly disturbing to find that for some reason she really likes the thought that he tried to stay up for her. "And your couch is comfortable," she suggests.

"Yeah," he replies, and there's something warm in his voice now, as if the realization that she actually called hit him while he was still halfway asleep and vulnerable.

And yes, she knows what he is feeling, knows it a little too well because while they chat, she slips into bed and takes the phone with her, and she certainly never thought she'd be talking to Tony that way before. But now that she's actually doing it, it feels right, and she excuses it by telling herself that it's really late after all and that she needs to be rested for the flight back tomorrow, and this way she can just close her eyes and go to sleep after she's done with checking up on him. It's not like she's doing it to feel more intimate about this talk. And it's not like he knows.

Except maybe he does because when she snuggles deeper into her blankets he asks her if she's in bed already, and she says, almost defensively, "Why shouldn't I be? You're sleeping on your couch, I choose something more comfortable."

"Oh, so you planned ahead on falling asleep while we talk?" he chuckles, and she rolls her eyes because it's the thing she usually does, even though a smile tugs at her mouth now. "So much for my entertainment value..."

She laughs and draws her sheets up high around her. "I already had more than enough entertainment today, Tony."

The sudden silence from the other end hits her like a slap in the face, and she blinks and tries to figure out what went wrong just now. And when she does, she frowns and fights the urge to stare at her phone as if it could give her the answer he refuses her. She says his name again, and she knows him well enough to know he's stirring on his couch at the sound of her voice as if he'd just woken up. And once again she suspects that he's a little more drunk than he wants to let on because his control is usually much tighter.

"Sorry," he says. "Got distracted."

She waits for more, but he's not offering, and with a start she realizes that the ball is back in her court once more and she hasn't even noticed. That he slipped up, and now it's her turn to either notice it and work with what he handed her... or to ignore it and never touch the subject again. And it's really not fair, she thinks while her heart pounds rapidly and she cups her phone in her hand, as carefully as if she were touching Tony's cheek now to get his attention and him to look at her. 

It's not fair, but it's the way things have been between them so far, one of them barging ahead and the other stepping out of the way, always, always retreating, never once facing the charge. 

But not this time. She can't keep going like this, and she knows he's tired of it, too, and they really need to find a different way of dealing with each other.

"Why are you so bothered by my friend, Tony?"

There's rustling on the other end again, and she knows he's fidgeting now and thinking of a way to get out of this, just like she was before she dialed his number. But then he suddenly sighs, and she hears the same tiredness in his voice that is making her leave the safe shores of predefined actions and reactions for the first time. 

"I don't know. Maybe this time I am jealous."

Ziva blinks while her pulse goes through the roof and a hot flush creeps into her face. Her palms are sweaty all of a sudden, and she's not sure if that's because she's gripping the phone so hard now that her fingers start to cramp. 

"What?" she presses out, and there's a strained groan answering her. 

"Oh god, please don't tell me I said that out loud."

She opens her mouth but closes it again because she really lacks the right words to react to this. She certainly can't tell him that she suddenly feels all funny inside. That she'd love to see his face now and answer him in a way that doesn't require speech and meaning and phrases that may or may not change things around even more and disrupt the fragile balance they have built up between them over the years. And she certainly can't tell him that, deep down inside, she actually likes the fact that he is jealous and admitting it.

"Tony... I..."

"Aaand now you're giving me the _'Don't call us, we'll call you'_ speech..." he interrupts her, and even through the phone line she hears the parody of a headslap he deals himself. "Look, can I just go back to drinking now so I won't remember any of this in the morning?"

She says his name again, more firmly this time, and that gets his attention. "That's not what I was about to say," she murmurs, and she really doesn't know why, but she's so nervous again and there's another unexpected rush of warmth spreading on her cheeks while her free hand twists the sheets in her grip. "And just so you know, my friend has his own room and his own bed, and that's not going to change."

There's more heavy silence on the other end of the line, but eventually, she hears him trying to get comfortable on the couch again. "Sorry," he says again while he pulls up his own blanket around his shoulders, and Ziva mirrors him without realizing it at first. But when she hears the blanket's rustling over the phone as if he wraps her into it, too, she suddenly feels as if she's snuggling up with him, and the sensation confuses her. "It's none of my business, I know."

She blinks and runs her thumb along the edge of her phone, and she's not so sure he is right. But she's also not sure how to say that.

"Sometimes," she says after a while, and even while she speaks it's strange because talking with Tony has never felt as intimate as it does right now. "Sometimes I think about how it would be if we could go back and start all over again. Avoid some of the mistakes we keep making. Get to know each other in a different way."

"Like, as if we just met? Clean slate?"

"Yes." One simple word, and it scares her so much. Because it's actually an admission that she wants things to be different. That she is no longer content with what she has, just when she thought she was at last. That she wants more, and less, and something else. And that, maybe, she wants it from him.

His breathing is so calm and quiet suddenly that she can almost feel the phantom brush of it against her cheek. She wonders what he's thinking now, and yes, she knows he is really thinking furiously and tries to deal with his side of things and tries to make sense out of what he just heard.

She suddenly realizes this whole talk is despite the hint of awkwardness strangely comfortable because for once he doesn't mock her and she's not teasing him, and even though they're not talking right now, they have a new sort of understanding going on here. And she thinks that it would actually be quite nice to fall asleep like that, with hearing his calm breaths, just knowing he's listening to her while he's nodding off, too.

"Hi," he says suddenly, and even though his voice is very soft, Ziva jumps because she has lost herself a little in the comfortable scariness of things. "My name's Tony. Tony DiNozzo. I'm not as grown up as I look, and I'm not the easiest person to get along with, but I saw you standing over there all alone, and I thought it couldn't hurt to ask if you already have a date. And if you do, can I cut in?" He hesitates for the briefest of moments, and she knows that the next part will either be a copout or something that requires all his courage. "Because you're gorgeous. And I'd like to get to know you better. I think."

His voice trails off, and Ziva's pulse pounds hard suddenly, going a mile a minute. She can't believe he just said that. She doesn't trust her own ears, and she'd almost prefer to think that she merely imagined those words. 

But he said them, and yes, he's waiting for an answer now, and her throat is suddenly so tight that she can't speak for a long moment.

"Hi, Tony," she finally replies, and her voice is hushed and slightly breathless, and she's pretty sure he can hear the tremble in it. Some part of her hates that there is so much space between them right now, but another part is sort of glad that he's so far away, and even though she would like to be with him on his couch very much right now, she's relieved that she doesn't have to meet his eyes when she continues. 

"I'm Ziva. I... don't have a date yet. In fact, I'm kind of new to all this, and I'm not even sure I want one." And this is her own moment to hesitate and gather her wits... or back out yet again. She takes a deep breath, reminding herself that backing out has never gotten her anywhere. "But I like your voice. It's nice, and honest. And I think I'd like to get to know you better, too."

He's quiet for such a long time now that her pulse turns into a dull roar in her temples. She wonders if she said the right thing and if he said the right thing and if maybe they both just misunderstood each other again because they're just so awfully good at that.

And then there's suddenly the soft rustling of blankets while he moves, maybe turning to his other side while punching his pillow into the right shape, just like Ziva did a minute ago.

"You like my voice?" His question is soft against her ear, and her heart skitters in unexpected distraction as she imagines the look he would give her if he were with her just now. 

And Ziva smiles and says yes and closes her own eyes while she listens to his voice some more. And to her own heart, beating away.


	3. Wish I Hadn't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even more mush with a sprinkling of angst on top, but nothing else that requires a warning.

She's nervous while she waits for Tony, and not for the first time she asks herself if calling him from the airport really was a good idea. But her flight's been redirected, and now she is facing a two-hour drive home, and she's not willing to spend that much on a cab. And since she couldn't reach Abby and Gibbs is in Stillwater over the holidays, there's only Tony left because she knows he'd be hurt if she had called McGee instead to pick her up. Especially after last night's talk.

Ziva sighs and rubs her tired eyes. She hasn't even seen him yet, and already this is turning into a nightmarish exercise in awkwardness.

Last night, it had all seemed so much easier.

They had talked for more than an hour, and by the end of that phone call Ziva had felt closer to Tony than ever before. And they had been so scarily honest with each other that it seems almost unreal in the bright light of this new day, while she is going back to DC. Going back to actually facing him, each day. Going back to looking him in the eye when she repeats that she likes him and that she wonders how it would be to kiss him these days, and dear god, she still can't believe she actually said that one out loud.

And that's the crux of the matter: Things are supposed to be different now because they talked about the past and the future and about change, and she knows for sure he'll have expectations now, just like she suddenly has them simply because they have shared so much in such a short time. 

Maybe he'll even expect her to act like a girlfriend now instead of the Ziva he knows. Because yes, that much has been clear -- he wants more from her than what he gets at work, and he hasn't been happy with the status quo lately, just like Ziva hasn't. And things are supposed to change after they have both established that fact, but she has no idea how and if they would actually change for the better. Because in the bright light of morning he is still the same old Tony, and she is still the same old Ziva, and people just don't change fast enough to suddenly make things work when they didn't for the better part of five years. Not after just one snap of the fingers -- or, in this case, one phone call, no matter how frank and honest it had been.

She bites her lip nervously and finds her fingers playing with her hair again, twisting strands around her finger. It's a silly habit, and it's something girls do, flipping their hair like that, and so she digs around in her pocket until she finds a hair band and pulls her curls back into a tight ponytail. And she actually feels a little better after that, not quite as scatterbrained and confused, at least until she thinks that it's rather silly to rely on such a small thing to give her the illusion of being in control.

She moans and leans back in her seat and wonders once more how she is supposed to deal with all of this. With Tony, who is just now on his way to pick her up, and maybe he'll even kiss her right away because he really -- _really_ \-- wants to try that out. That has been made clear last night, too.

Of course, she could always pretend the whole thing never happened. She could blame it all on one night of emotional weakness (on her end) and alcohol (on his end), and she could act as if nothing was out of the ordinary today. People do that all the time, even if there has been much more to forget about between them, and for some of them it even works, right? So maybe it would be for the better if she--

Her head hurts, and she abandons the thought before she can talk herself into it. It wouldn't be fair, and for Tony and her it would never work, it would just cause them more distress.

"Hey," she hears him call, and she jumps in her seat, her eyes widening while she scans the crowd until she makes him out. She's not quite ready to face him yet, but she can't let him see that. Can't show him how fast her pulse is going suddenly and how much she wants things to be as easy between them as they were last night.

But she doesn't pull herself together fast enough, and when he strides towards her there's an outrageous grin on his face that makes her knees weak, and that brings her straight back to thinking all of this was a bad, bad, bad idea because she has never felt as vulnerable around him before.

"Hey," she replies quietly. Her eyes flicker all over the place suddenly, refusing to settle on him and meet his gaze, because that would require more bravery than she has with her today. But he doesn't notice at first, he just keeps smiling at her, and yes, that smile warms her in a way she has never allowed herself before. And that's the very thing that makes her even more nervous: Ziva usually isn't the kind of woman to get distracted by a smile and a wink and a warm feeling in her belly. She usually doesn't even have warm feelings towards her men. 

Lust, yes. Fondness, too. Attraction, friendship, compassion, shared experiences? All of these. But never something that softens her gaze and makes her want to ruffle his hair and kiss him right here, right now -- not for sex, but just for the sake of simply sharing his presence, his breath, his--

She takes a deep breath and almost steps back when his fingertips stroke softly across the back of her hand while he brushes his lips against her cheek. It's too familiar a gesture, and at the same time it's not familiar enough, and she is no longer sure what she wants to happen here because what she wants confuses her and messes things up and leads to new habits and new ways of treating each other, and she still has no idea how to deal with any of this.

He notices her hesitation and the way she glances at him warily when he leans into her, and he pulls back faster than he probably intended to at first because suddenly there's awkwardness on his side, too. Her heart pounds in her throat when he smiles at her again, still radiant, but with a hint of insecurity this time.

"Here," he says. "Let me..."

And they are suddenly in each other's way because he reaches for her suitcase at the same time she grips it harder. She's really not sure if she wants him to carry her stuff because he's never done that before and it's just so strange that she has no idea how to react to it properly.

She lets him take the suitcase eventually, thinking that she was the one to initiate change after all, so she can at least try to go along with it. But while he steers her out of the hall and to his car, his hand is pressed tight against the small of her back, and for once she can't ignore it as something natural and just the usual between them. 

Because it isn't. It's the same old way he used to touch her, yes. But now it suddenly means more. And it also means there's going to be more touching.

*** *** ***

They're doing even worse once they are stuck in the confines of his car. They try their best at playing it casual, but they never manage to go beyond meaningless, superficial topics, and eventually a simple question about the weather during her trip rattles Ziva's nerves enough that she suddenly grits her teeth and tells him to pull over, right now.

He does so without asking why, but out of the corner of her eye she sees how his jaw clenches in sudden frustration and maybe even anger. She blinks, staring at the dashboard while her heart suddenly thumps so hard in her chest that she has trouble breathing. 

Why, oh why do things have to be so incredibly difficult just because suddenly they have to face each other again? Why can't it stay as simple and smooth as it was last night, when he--?

"This isn't working too well," she blurts out, and her fingers twitch nervously around the hem of her jacket.

His gaze is suddenly heavy on her. She still refuses to meet his eyes, but she knows he's looking at her now, scrutinizing her and asking her without words what's going on. And she really wishes she could give him an answer, but she really has no idea what's wrong all of a sudden, and she also has no clue how to set things right again, how to be the Ziva of last night again, the one who doesn't flinch when he tries to kiss her, the one who actually wants him to--

"Okay," he says, and she jumps because she feels caught in thoughts she isn't supposed to have. 

Except that since last night, she is actually supposed to have them, and there's that damn confusion washing over her again and making her fidgety.

"Okay," he repeats while he unbuckles his seatbelt. And then he leans towards her, and her heartbeat thunders in her ears all of a sudden because having him this close is not unusual, but it's suddenly dangerous, and today it turns her mood and thoughts upside down. "So let's get one thing out of the way, right?"

She jumps again when he reaches for her seatbelt and opens it, too. His hand brushes her side while he does that, and her head whips around because her instincts are screaming at her to run now, to seek cover, because this can't be good, and he has her trapped now, and yes, maybe she really wants to run. 

But maybe not.

Her breathing turns flat while she watches him run the seatbelt through his fingers, and he does it slowly, so slowly, giving her all the time in the world to stop him as he leans over her. And then, suddenly, he's so close that all she can do is stare at him with widening eyes, feeling like the proverbial hare in front of the snake.

"I've been thinking about this since I woke up this morning," he murmurs, and it shocks her to actually feel the echo of his words against her mouth, so warm, so close.

Too close, and she can't run, she's just sitting there and watches him lean over her even more, and his hand, the one that loosened her seatbelt, presses against the passenger side window now, maybe to support him, maybe to trap her. And she should care but she finds that she really doesn't because his mouth brushes against hers now, carefully, softly, but as easily as if he has already done this a hundred times to her.

For the fraction of a heartbeat she thinks about pushing him away. About asking him what the fuck he thinks he's doing. But then his lips press more firmly against hers, and she suddenly can't think straight because he's just too damn good at this and she just needs it to happen too much.

She knows he's watching her carefully, waiting for her reaction, and she knows it's her own damn fault this is going forward instead of back into the safe zone of partnership and work and responsibilities, but she really can't help it now, and her eyes flutter shut suddenly. Because he's really, _really_ good at what he does, and she just wants him to keep going, wants it more than she would have expected a mere minute ago.

His tongue slips into her mouth now, and she can't help but let him in, with a tiny sound of shock on her lips while heat rushes through her with mad intensity. And oh god, he tastes so good that she almost forgets what she was so confused about earlier, because it's suddenly so easy again, so good, so natural to want more of this. She's been a fool not to want this before, and really, he--

His hand touches her cheek, and for some reason that snaps her out of it and makes her tear her mouth from his. Because nothing is ever that easy, and kissing him like this just complicates things even more because now it will be so much harder to ignore what they have done if it turns out there's a need for it.

He stares at her, heat in his eyes, but he's confused now, too, and she wants to say she's sorry but all she can do is open the door and stumble out of the car, away from him. She almost runs, and she doesn't even think about how to get home right now because she can still feel his lips on hers, and she knows she will need to run for miles until the sensation subsides to something she can push away until it no longer bothers her.

Her phone rings, and she digs it out of her pocket. She doesn't even bother to look at the caller ID because for some reason her sight is all blurred now, and so she just snaps it open and growls, "What?"

"Don't do that, Ziva." His voice is so eerily calm against her ear that she actually freezes in her tracks.

"Do what, Tony?" She wants to snarl and sound angry and annoyed, but all she manages is just more of the same frustration.

"Don't run off like that," he says, and she knows what he really means is _'Don't run away from me'_. She turns around and glares back at him, and finally there's a hint of anger rising in her, only she isn't sure this time if it's her partner or her own stupidity she is angry with.

He's standing beside his car and watching her, phone pressed to his ear, and for a minute he just stares at her quietly while she hears his slow breathing over the phone.

"Why?" she asks eventually, and he blinks, all of a sudden not sure what to say.

"Well, for one, your bag's still in my trunk," he replies, trying to make light again, and she suddenly hates this dance, hates it so much that the emotion finally translates into words.

"Have fun with my laundry then."

"Oh, so what, I get your panties, but I don't get you?" He almost sneers the words, and he's so good at mirroring her anger, just like he's always been. 

They've always been perfect at screwing each other up with just a few words. And this is exactly what she was afraid of. She just had no idea it would happen so soon.

"Tony," she says, hesitantly, not sure how to tell him that maybe they have made a mistake. But she has no chance to do that because he interrupts her with her own name flowing from his lips.

"Ziva," he mutters, and she meets his eyes and a hot flush creeps into her cheeks at the way he stares at her. He's no longer angry. There's longing in his eyes, and he shakes his head when she takes another step away from him. "Please come back here so we can talk. Or kiss. Or whatever you want, okay? Just come back."

Her heart flutters in sudden excitement at the prospect of tasting his lips again, and she blinks, confused and ensnared. "I... I'm not sure this is a good idea," she whispers.

He tilts his head like a curious spaniel, just watching her quietly for a few moments while he thinks about this. 

"Did you like kissing me?" he suddenly asks, and she opens her mouth to reply and finds that she can't answer that, at least not with words. Not while he keeps looking at her like that. So she nods. It's just a curt movement of the head, but it's enough to make him smile. Because he knows, of course, but he still needed her to admit it.

"And do you like me?" he continues.

And for some reason that simple question softens her face, because he knows that answer, too, but for some reason Ziva never really did, until now. 

"More than I should," she says softly.

His smile widens, and god, right now she really wants to kiss him again. 

"Then where's the fuckin problem?" 

And it twists her feelings upside down again, but she suddenly realizes that he may be right. They shouldn't have a problem with any of this, not really. But it's still hard work to snap her phone shut again and walk back towards his car. Her steps are slow, and her joints feel strangely stiff, as if her body refuses to obey her.

He's meeting her halfway, though, and his eyes stay fixed on her as if he's watching for another sign of her making a run for it. And she's still so very nervous, because yes, she likes him. She likes him so much, in fact, that she really doesn't want to screw this up, and that's what she usually does. But he doesn't even give her a chance to feel awkward this time. His hand just comes up against her neck to pull her closer instead of talking, and it feels easy to wrap her own arms around him and burrow her face into his chest. Maybe it's just a reflex, born out of many hours of working together and simply _getting_ him.

"Why can't this be a little easier?" she sighs, and his arms tighten around her as if he prepares for her to break away again. "Like last night. That seemed effortless."

And Tony suddenly lets go of the breath he has been holding, and he relaxes and laughs into the curve of her neck. His hand runs down her back slowly, and she turns into his embrace, seeking more because it feels good. 

"Girl, you wouldn't recognize easy if it bit you in the ass," he chuckles suddenly, and she pulls back a little so she can glare at him, frowning.

"Look who's walking," she starts out but she doesn't get any further because he gives her that wicked smile again. And then his lips are on hers again and steal her breath and make her heart pound so hard that she has to grab his coat to keep her knees from buckling. And oh... oh yes, that's a way to shut her up effectively.

"I call easy," he murmurs long moments later, breathless and amused and more than just a little turned on this time.

And she knows that she should be annoyed with him now because that's how things have always been, after all. But she can't bring herself to get worked up about it, and maybe he's right, maybe she has just never recognized how easy it could be.

It shouldn't be this easy, not after everything they've been through together. But then he brushes his thumb down her cheek and smiles at her, and maybe their past is exactly the thing that makes it a lot less hard in the end. And maybe taking this into a new direction doesn't have to change everything they know at once.

"Don't flatter yourself," she says, giving him a smile of her own, and her voice is so rough now that his eyes sparkle in sudden amusement. "You just have a very shapely knee."

She tries to keep a straight face but it doesn't work, not while he's still touching her like that. He grins at her and suddenly laughs while he slings his arm around her shoulders and drags her back towards the car. And she's strangely glad he does that because her knees are still weak, and on top of that she's getting cold now. The car promises more warmth and maybe more kissing.

"You'll be the death of me," he says, and Ziva feels something tight inside her unravel while she laughs and follows his example and tentatively sneaks her arm around his waist.

"Maybe," she agrees and leans into him until his arm tightens around her. "But you'll have _so_ much fun going down."

And that wasn't all that hard.


End file.
